Hair Care, Senior Style

My senior year of high school was nearing its end which meant a professional [looking] photo had been scheduled, on a non-school day, late afternoon. Yikes! For me, that meant stepping outside of my comfort zone. Let it be known that I am not, have never been, and never will be a girl that knows how to make her hair and [very minimal] makeup look awesome. Thank goodness for my older sister Chris, who, on the other hand, was the hair and makeup girl in the family. She definitely had style.

“Hey Daph, let me fix your hair for your senior picture,” she said as she fiddled with my fuzzy mop.
“Really? I just fixed it,” I said in response.
“Come on. I will make it look nice. You have time,” she pleaded.
“Alright. Fine,” I not-so-willingly agreed.

Honestly, I was nervous. Wondering what the other kids at school would think. My hair looking styled, instead of an unkempt frizz-ball. But I figured what the heck, why not? You only live once, right? So, Chris began brushing my hair, completing the finishing touches an hour or so later.

“Oh, I think you are going to like it. Your hair looks so pretty,” she said as she turned me toward the mirror.

I looked at my reflection. My hair was styled, smooth, and she had added a bit of soft curl and parted it just right. She definitely made me look nice. Really pretty, in fact. But… it didn’t look like me. Not the me I was used to. My hair looked too perfect. Too smooth. Too focused on.

“Sorry, Chris,” I winced, feeling bad. “But I don’t want to take my picture with this hair style.”

So… I washed my hair, again. I needed to restore it to my normal fuzzy puff at the bottom, less so on top.

senior pic 1980

“O–K” my sister responded to my freshly washed and wildly dried hair. “At least you pulled the top portion back. Makes it look better.”
“Yep. Now I am definitely ready to have my picture taken,” I stated firmly, as I walked out the front door.

Sensitivity Across the Genders

girl_boy talkingHere’s the thing… we are all sensitive, all of us, male and female. Yet, and I am speaking in the most general sense, females tend to show their emotions more. Males hold it all in, having been taught that big boys don’t cry.

Except when in a vulnerable moment. Like when a husband is sitting next to his wife, watching a girly show.

I was watching Project Runway, Jr. (Love it!) whilst drinking a cup of morning coffee, observing talented kids create amazing pieces of clothing, when Rudy wandered in. He sat, sipped from his steaming cup, and began watching the show with me. (Unusual, for sure.) No words exchanged between the two of us. Until, he became invested in what was happening, commenting on how extraordinary it is that designers are capable of making an outfit from a large piece of colored cloth.

“Kinda like you with cooking,” I said. “I’m impressed with how you can make something delicious from what looks to be nothing in the fridge.” He smiled and continued to zone in on the young teens entertaining us via the tube.

We critiqued the outfits the kids had dressed the models in.

“Whoa, nice outfit!” Rudy said. “Looks exactly like the style a teenager would buy.”

“Yikes! Those pants are way too big, aren’t they?” I wondered, as I watched a model strut down the runway. He agreed, saying that the wide-legged jeans looked very uncomfortable, and that that designer may be the one voted out because of it. (She wasn’t.)

As the judges began presenting their constructive criticism,¬†before they decided who to boot off the show, both of us felt for each kid. So young. So enthusiastic. So worthy. And when it came to the two final designers, standing there, tears welling up, ready to spill out, but unable to due to the courage both kids showed, I heard Rudy sniffling, breathing in choppy breaths. He rubbed the top of his head, quickly, a gesture he does when he’s very emotional. And then he wiped his eyes.

And believe me, I was weepy, too. We didn’t want to see those kids not making it in the big-wide-world. We were behaving like parents, as if those kids belonged to us. So, when the judges didn’t just send one kid away, but both, Rudy lost it. He had to leave the living room and gather his emotions. Put them back in place, confine them. Man up.

He returned. Normal. Even-keeled, (on the emotional spectrum), and said (again) how impressed he was with the talent of such young kids. I agreed.